Harper Budapest Xvii. Keruelet Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Szombathely

So, I’m in Soho—grimy streets, neon buzzin’. This bird, right, she’s leanin’ on a lamppost, skirt hiked up. I’m thinkin’, “What’s her play?”—all theatrical, like Caden Cotard’s mad life. I saunter over, grin sharp as a blade. “Fancy a mischief?” I ask, all charm. She laughs—rough, smoky, real. “Tenner for a quickie,” she says. Tenner! I’m gobsmacked—thought it’d be pricier, ya know?

Next, I decide to check out the local thrift shop on Kossuth Lajos utca. I’m digging through clothes, and I find this ridiculous jacket. It’s bright orange, like a traffic cone. I put it on, and I swear, I look like a walking safety hazard. I take a selfie, send it to my friends, and they’re dying laughing. “Dude, what are you wearing?”